


Dear Ol' Dad

by MissNaya



Category: DCU
Genre: Aftercare, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, M/M, Muteness, Parent/Child Incest, Rough Sex, Sign Language, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:35:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27295783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissNaya/pseuds/MissNaya
Summary: Slade finds out his son has been calling another man "Daddy." How he deals with it is a bit unorthodox, but effective.
Relationships: Joseph Wilson/Slade Wilson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 81





	Dear Ol' Dad

**Author's Note:**

> written for anonymous! great idea, really fun to work on! Wilsoncest is one of those things that I love, but haven't played around with much, so I hope this little soiree into it is fun for you guys, too.

“We need to talk.”

“Dad, why are you in my house?” Joey signs.

“I know you’re not that stupid,” Slade says, lounging in Joey’s armchair. “I just told you. We need to talk.”

Joey putters around the open-concept kitchen, putting on some coffee. He’s gonna need it to deal with this.

“And it couldn’t wait until after 7 AM? Maybe somewhere aside from my apartment, which you don’t have keys to?”

“Your security is a joke,” Slade says. “Tell your mother to invest in a better alarm system.”

“She had it fitted with the same equipment the US government uses.”

“I didn’t ask.”

The coffee sputters and starts to drip into a mug. Joey watches it with his hands on the counter, leaning against it. He wishes he’d known Slade would be sitting in his living room right when he woke up; he’d have thrown on some pants, maybe a shirt. Could be worse, though. He could be wearing the novelty-print briefs Étienne bought him, the ones with “Are you nasty?” plastered on the ass. Those are comfortable.

He waits until the coffee is done before he wanders back to his room to grab his phone. By the time he gets back, Slade is drinking from his mug.

“You really like this frou-frou caramel crap?” he asks.

Joey sets his phone on the counter between them and turns on the bluetooth function. His voice comes out of it. “I do, yeah.”

Slade snorts and drinks more while Joey goes to put on another cup for himself. They stand in silence while it fills up, while they both drink their fill. When Joey puts his empty mug down in the sink, he finally speaks up.

“Well?”

“That new boyfriend of yours,” Slade says, and it’s abrupt enough that it startles Joey. He shouldn’t be surprised that Slade knows about his boyfriend, but he is. “What do you call him?”

“Uh. His name?”

Slade puts his cup down on the counter and turns to face Joey more fully. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I actually don’t,” Joey says, “so if you could stop being cryptic—”

“I heard you call him Daddy.”

Well. That’s straightforward enough.

Joey doesn’t blush often, but at the accusation, he goes scarlet. “How do you know that?”

“You just confirmed it for me right there,” Slade says.

“No, that’s not fair,” Joey snaps back. “That came from somewhere. Have you been spying on me again? Pops, you—”

Slade pushes away from the counter and stands up to his full height. Joey doesn’t exactly shrink back, but he soon finds his back pressed up against the edge of the sink.

“You always call me that,” Slade says. He brings a hand up to cup Joey’s chin, tugging at his lower lip, and, confused, Joey just lets it happen. “‘Pops.’ ‘Slade.’ And then some little boytoy comes along, and you call him Daddy?”

“You’re not mad because I don’t call you Daddy,” Joey asks, “are you?”

Something in Slade’s eye changes. A shift, a darkening. He pulls back, and for a second, Joey thinks that’s the end of it. That he’s going to jump out the window and be out of his life again, and this will just be a confusing footnote in their weird relationship.

He doesn’t actually expect things to get _weirder._

But that’s exactly what happens when Slade picks him up and throws him over his shoulder. Flailing, Joey gives a “Hey!”

Slade snatches up the phone, too, and brings it along to the living area, where he deposits Joey roughly on the couch. He sets the phone down on the coffee table, and from it, Joey’s voice crackles out.

“What’s that for?”

Slade sits down next to him and pats his lap. “C’mere.”

“...What?”

“Are you deaf now, too, or just stupider than I thought?” Slade asks. It’s a bit of a low blow, but Joey’s heard lower from his father; he’s long learned to let remarks like that roll off his back when it comes to dear old dad. “Come here. Over my lap.”

Joey feels his heart quickening. That lazy spread-legged stance, the look in Slade’s eyes, he remembers it from when Grant used to get the belt. Swallowing, his throat throbs.

“No.”

Slade blinks. “No?”

Joey shakes his head. “No.”

Slade sighs, seeming put-upon. Then, with an inhuman speed and strength, he grabs Joey by the arm and yanks him over his lap.

“Pops, what the fuck?!” he says, his mouth still, teeth bared. He struggles, but Slade’s heavy hand between his shoulder blades prevents him from getting up. “Let me up—!”

“After I’m finished,” Slade says, and Joey jumps when he feels Slade’s other hand on the swell of his ass. “First my hand. Then, if you still need a lesson, my belt.”

“No, hey,” Joey says, shaking his head. He tries to kick his feet out and get leverage to push himself up, but it doesn’t work. Slade is just too strong. “I’m an adult! You can’t—”

“I can, and I will,” Slade says, his voice booming, commanding. “And you’re going to be a man and take it.”

“Sla—”

The first blow hits hard. Joey’s whole body jerks with it, and he doesn’t make a sound, though his mouth drops open. The second blow hits harder, and an “ _Ahhhh_ ” crackles out of the phone.

“Don’t whine,” Slade says, his wide palm able to rest on both of Joey’s asscheeks at once. They both sting already.

Joey doesn’t know what to say, and he’s always been the quiet type, anyway. So he shuts his mouth and does what Slade told him to do: he takes it.

After the first few blows, though, Slade must grow tired of the silence. In that same commanding voice, he says, “Count.”

“Pops—”

“ _Count,_ Joseph.”

Uh-oh. His full name. This must be serious. Joey gulps, feels the already-tight muscles of his throat tighten some more. The next time he feels Slade’s heavy hand come down on his ass, he counts.

“One?”

Slade nods. “One. Since you were so quiet the first few times.”

“You know, being quiet is kind of my thing—”

The next blow shuts him up. Slade doesn’t seem to be laughing. From what Joey can see when he turns his head, his mouth is set in a grim line, his eye narrowed. He looks serious as the grave, like this is some contract, and he’s waiting for his target to cross into his sights. It’s a different kind of focus than usual, different than the way he used to spank Grant. There’s no uncontrolled anger there; this is a calm fire, a seething rage.

Slade does it again. “Two.”

Again. “Three.”

And again. “Four.”

It keeps going like that, past five, past ten, past twenty, until Joey is clawing at the couch, his voice modulator trying its best to keep up with all the noises that rumble low in his torn-up throat. He’s not sure if being connected via bluetooth is making this better or worse. On the one hand, it’s embarrassing to be making noises, especially when he’s not a noise-making guy. On the other, maybe Slade hearing him will make him more sympathetic.

When he feels Slade pulling his belt out of the loops, he realizes that’s not the case.

“You’re a sadist,” he says over his shoulder.

“I’m your father,” Slade responds, like that somehow rules the first bit out.

“Let me guess,” Joey says, “this hurts you more than it hurts me?”

“Oh, no,” Slade says. “This is gonna hurt you way more, son.”

For some reason, that last bit, that “son,” is what gets Joey the most. He shudders on Slade’s lap as he folds over his belt, giving it one crack between his hands before he readies it by Joey’s ass.

“Pops,” he says, “don’t do this.”

“That’s not what you call me,” Slade says, and he brings his arm up and whips it down, right across both of Joey’s already-red cheeks.

The strained noise that comes out of the phone is nothing short of a howl.

“I want to hear you counting,” Slade reminds him. “You mess up, we start again.”

Through the haze quickly descending over his mind, Joey just barely remembers where they were. “Twe-twenty-six.”

“Good boy.”

Joey shudders again.

This time, it hurts much more. The sting of real leather on his ass, even through his pitifully-thin boxers, is intense. Slade really knows how to bring the pain when he needs to. It could be because of his military and mercenary background, but Joey doesn’t think that’s it. He thinks it’s just a part of being a father. Wonders how many other dads in their fucked-up world have as good a spanking arm as Slade.

Fuck. It’s getting hard to breathe. When Joey presses his forehead to the couch, it feels almost ice cold against his feverish skin. Each number puts a strain on his throat and his body, though the voice that comes out of the phone doesn’t exactly translate the amount of pain he’s in.

There’s something else, though, something underneath it all. A shock of a thrill that runs down his spine whenever Slade adjusts his hand on his back. The way he rocks into Slade’s leg with every hit certainly doesn’t help.

He’s into older men. He came to terms with that long ago, before he was even old enough to sleep with Ish. There’s something about gray hair and deep lines cut into a man’s face that makes him far more attractive. Granted, that’s not the _only_ type of man he’s interested in, but it’s certainly near the top of the list.

It’s fucked up, isn’t it? To think of his father as the type of man he’s interested in. But it’s undeniable; Slade’s a silver fox. There’s a reason he was able to get Étienne in bed. A reason he’s been with so many young women, a reason even his mother can’t keep from hopping into the sack with him once in a while, even after all they’ve been through.

With the next blow, Joey realizes he’s half-hard. Immediately, he begins to struggle.

“Okay, pops, I think I get the message,” he says, trying to push himself up.

Slade pushes him right back down. “I don’t think you do.”

Another two blows, and Joey barely manages to count them. Then he’s speaking up again. “I get it! You don’t like the Daddy thing. It creeps you out.”

Slade heaves a sigh. “You see, son? You just don’t get it. And I’m not gonna stop until you do.”

“Wait, no—”

_Thwap._ Another sting of the belt.

_Thwap._ Then another.

_Thwap._ Another still.

Joey’s mind works overtime, trying to figure out what it is that Slade wants. For him to break up with his boyfriend? For him to stop calling him Daddy? For him to stop dating altogether? It doesn’t make sense, and his addled mind can’t break through the pain haze he’s in.

Another few smacks, and he feels his lower body throb; not just his ass, but between his legs, too. His cock, standing at full attention, rubs at Slade’s leg through his pants.

“Dad,” he pleads, knuckles white as he fists at the couch cushions. “ _Dad._ ”

“You’re getting there,” Slade says, and hits him again.

Getting there? What could that—

Oh.

_Oh._

No, that can’t be right. Slade can’t be implying what Joey thinks he’s implying, right? But the blows keep coming, Joey can feel his skin bruising, and he can’t take it anymore. He does the only thing he can do.

He groans, “ _Daddy,_ please stop.”

Slade does.

“Now,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “Was that so hard?”

Something, Joey thinks, most certainly is. He hopes Slade can’t feel it, but he doesn’t see how he _can’t._ He shifts his hips back in the hopes to take some of the pressure off, but Slade just presses a hand to his aching ass and pushes him back into place.

“Dad,” he says, panting hard. “D- _Daddy._ Is that… is that really what this is all about…?”

“Took you long enough,” Slade says. “Here I thought you were quicker on the uptake. Maybe your sister is the one with the brains.”

It’s hard for Joey to breathe, hard for him to think. Slade wants him to call him Daddy. Slade is… _jealous._

He can’t believe it. Can’t believe that his father would get so hung up on something so small. Can’t believe it warranted breaking in and doing all this. But isn’t that just like Slade? Always surprising. Always unpredictable.

Always overwhelming.

And Joey is so overwhelmed that he lets himself lay there, sweating and trembling. He’s exhausted, but wired at the same time. It’s an intense feeling, similar to how he might feel in a life-or-death fight, but different, too. This isn’t life or death, but it’s… intimate. Far too intimate.

For a long while, neither of them say anything. Slade just wipes a hand up and down Joey’s sweaty back, and keeps his other hand on his ass.

Then that hand starts to move.

Slowly, Slade grabs the edges of Joey’s boxers and tugs them up until the fabric is stuck in the crack of his ass, his wounds bare for all to see. He sucks in a breath when Slade’s bare hand connects with the ruined skin; can’t even imagine what he must look like right now, all red and black and blue.

“I think,” Slade mumbles, “you still need to be taught a lesson.”

“Wha—?”

Joey flails and stumbles when Slade hauls him up, hands shooting out to grip at his arms on instinct. He’s led over to the arm of the couch, and then, with one strong hand, Slade shoves him over it, bent at the waist. Joey grabs at one of the decorative pillows on the couch, looking over his shoulder with wide eyes.

“Dad?!”

Slade grabs his hips and pulls him flush against his crotch, and, _oh._ Oh, there’s something.

“How many times do I have to hit you before you get it through your head?” An open-palmed slap hits his ass, weaker than before, but still enough to hurt. “That’s. Not. What. You. Call. Me.”

“Daddy,” Joey says, panting ragged against the pillow. “ _Daddy._ Daddy. Okay? Daddy!”

Slade growls, low and deep in his throat. “Good boy.”

Then Joey feels something that makes his heart leap into his throat. Slade, peeling his boxers down below the curve of his ass. He doesn’t take them off all the way, leaves them bunched up around his thighs. Somehow it’s worse that way, more embarrassing.

Almost reverently, Slade cups one cheek of his ass. It’s gentle at first, deceptively so. Then he tightens his grip, and Joey can feel his thumb spread his cheeks apart. He flushes redder than he was before, feeling Slade’s eyes on him.

“What are you—”

“Shh.” Slade’s other hand comes up to join the first one, mirroring it on his other cheek. “I can see that you’re hard, Joseph. You can’t hide things from your father.”

Joey tries to push himself up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— It was just from me rubbing against your—”

Slade moves one hand to shove Joey back down. “I know exactly what it was from, you little slut. This is what gets you off, isn’t it? Calling your old man Daddy. That’s why you say it to that boyfriend of yours.”

“I—” Joey’s throat feels tighter than usual. “No, I—”

Slade smacks his ass one more time. “No more lies, Joey. I’m your father. I can tell when you’re not telling the truth.”

Joey shuts up. What else can he do? There’s nothing he can say to justify this, to excuse it. And, shamefully, with every word Slade says, Joey’s cock throbs more. It’s insane. It’s inexcusable.

But it feels so fucking good.

Slade goes back to what he was doing, prying Joey’s cheeks apart. He just seems to be looking for a long few moments, and Joey wonders if this will be the extent of it. Some sort of power play.

Then he feels a glob of spit land right on his hole.

“Wha— Dad—” He amends himself, “Dad _dy._ What are you doi—”

“What does it seem like I’m doing?” Slade says, rubbing a finger in little circles around the rim of Joey’s hole. “I’m about to shove my fingers up your ass. And you’re gonna take it as well as you did the spanking. Don’t pretend like you don’t want it.”

It’s one thing for Slade to do it, and another thing entirely for him to _say_ it. Saying it makes it real. Saying it makes this something planned, something that he can’t ignore. Joey’s breath catches in his throat, and he finds that, even with the implant in his throat, he can’t say anything at all.

Then Slade shoves a finger inside him.

He does it all at once, no easing it in, no waiting. And Slade has thick fingers, as Joey is very quickly discovering. They’re rough; calloused. That finger almost immediately hooks down inside him, and Joey sees stars.

A whine comes out of the phone, and Joey’s eyes roll into the back of his head. Slade keeps going, fucking him hard with a finger, hitting his prostate every time.

“You don’t deserve this, you know,” Slade tells him, like they’re talking about the weather. “Feeling so good. This is supposed to be a punishment.”

“Daddy,” Joey says. “ _Daddy._ ”

It feels good. Far too good. He’s always had a kink for it, for calling older men Daddy, but he never imagined it would come back to bite him like this. Never imagined he’d be partaking in his most secret kink with _Slade,_ of all people.

But he is. And there’s no turning back from this point.

Gasping against the pillows, Joey feels Slade spit again and worm another finger in. They stretch and prod at him, and then two of them assault his prostate. It’s true what they say; two is better than one. He bucks back, no stranger to this sensation, but it feels ten times more intense when it’s his _father_ doing it. No, scratch that: twenty times.

“Daddy,” he gasps, fingers wound so tightly into the pillows that a few seams split. “Daddy. _Daddy._ Daddy—”

“That’s it,” Slade says, and his voice is lower now, gruffer. It lacks that casual tone that he’d been using before. “That’s Daddy’s good boy.”

“Oh, _fuck._ ”

Joey lays his head on the pillows and shuts his eyes, because his vision is blanking out. It’s too intense already, too much too soon. But Slade doesn’t stop, assaulting him with his fingers, drawing out sounds that he didn’t know his bluetooth connection could make.

A third finger soon joins the second, and _fuck,_ that’s a lot. If only three fingers feel like they’re stretching him out so much, Joey can’t begin to imagine what Slade’s cock feels like.

Okay, that’s a lie. He’s seen Slade naked before. He felt him against his ass briefly. He knows what he’s packing.

Heaving hot little breaths, he encourages Slade by rocking back in a steady rhythm against his rough, fast fingers. The sounds they make are obscene, wet and slick, undeniably sexual. It makes the whole thing that much hotter.

Then, just as soon as it started, it stops. Slade pulls his fingers out and takes a step back, and from what Joey can feel of the eye burning into his back, it seems like he’s admiring his work. Joey’s hole twitches around nothing, and he suddenly feels very empty, very unfulfilled.

He hears a zipper and a rustling of fabric, and then the next thing he feels between his cheeks is much bigger.

“Woah, wait,” Joey says when he feels yet another glob of spit land on him. “Don’t you have any lube?”

“Don’t need it,” Slade says, starting to push in.

“I— I think you need it!” Joey squeaks. He pushes his hips forward, trying to get away, but Slade just keeps two hands on his hips and pulls him back. He sinks in a couple inches, and Joey’s mouth drops open.

He’s been fucked like this before. He knows his way around this rodeo. But it’s never as comfortable using spit as it is proper lube, always leaves him raw and sore for days afterward.

Though, his ass is going to be raw and sore for about a week even if Slade were to stop what he was doing right now.

Joey doesn’t think he wants Slade to stop what he’s doing.

And Slade doesn’t stop. “Don’t need it,” he says again, and he’s sinking in, Joey’s tight walls closing around him.

“Ah.” Joey’s eyes are squeezed shut, a single tear welling up to gather on his eyelashes. “ _Ah._ ”

“You can take it,” Slade assures him, rubbing a hand in little circles over his lower back. “You’re a man.”

And then he starts to thrust. It’s a rough, fast thing, and without nearly as much lubrication as they need, it’s uncomfortable as hell. It has to feel the same way for Slade, and it sounds that way if his grunts are of any indication, but Slade doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow down. Joey bounces back and forth over the arm of the couch, curls tousled, mouth wide open. His voice spills out of the phone, and it makes him feel so detached, like there’s someone else nearby watching them.

And wouldn’t that be something? What would someone think if they saw this, father and son going at it like rabbits? The hot rush of shame that courses through Joey’s body only intensifies his arousal, cock throbbing hard and heavy between his legs.

“Oh— Daddy,” he says. “ _Daddy._ ”

“What do you want, baby?” Slade pants over him. Joey feels a few beads of sweat drip from Slade’s face onto his back. “Tell Daddy what you need.”

“N-need— Your—” God, even with the implant, it’s getting difficult to speak. Joey wishes he were in a position to sign, but with his hands and their death grip on the pillows, that’s not going to happen any time soon. “Need y-your cock, Daddy.”

“Daddy’s right here,” Slade growls. “Take it. Take all of it. Take it like you’ve been wanting all this time.”

And Joey does, whether he likes it or not. But… He _likes_ it. Likes it a hell of a lot. It’s a guilty, shameful sort of like, but he’s never felt a lust like this in all his life. Not for Ish, Étienne, Terrence, none of them. There’s only Slade right now, only his father’s cock, nothing and no one else.

Something is building inside him, climbing higher and higher, and Joey can’t stop it. Can’t ignore it. He just has to hold on for the ride as Slade holds his hips and pulls him back onto his cock with every thrust, punching the air out of him. He’s incredibly big, incredibly strong, incredible as a man in general. And Joey can’t stop the rising of pleasure inside him, the pulsating between his legs. He lets out a dry sob, one that doesn’t quite register right coming out of his phone.

“Please,” he says. “ _Please._ Dad. Daddy. I’m so— so cl-close—”

Slade abruptly smacks his ass again. Pain shoots up Joey’s spine, but, mixed with the pleasure, it just makes his eyes cross.

“You’ll come when I tell you to come,” he says. “Got that, son?”

Joey nods frantically, curls bobbing. “Yes. _Yes._ Whenever you want, Daddy. Whenever you— Oh, fuck—”

“Watch your fucking language,” Slade growls, giving his other cheek another slap. Joey trembles violently under him. His cock leaks a thin stream of precum all the way to the floor.

Then he feels Slade’s fingers tangle in his hair, yank his head back. Slade slots his body over Joey’s, presses his teeth to his neck, beard scratching his skin as he bites down hard. And Joey, fucking masochist that he secretly is, keens underneath it, back bent in an obscene arch. He feels Slade suck a mark into his neck, firm and possessive, and shudders beneath him.

“Please,” he begs, “ _please,_ Daddy. Wanna c-cum for you. For you, Daddy—”

Slade pulls back, and Joey can smell the iron tang of blood on his lips. His hips continue their bruising pace, but something about it changes, the angle or the impact. Slade is getting close, too, Joey can feel it.

“You’re gonna come around Daddy’s cock,” he says, and Joey whimpers underneath him. “That’s right. Go on, son. Fucking do it.”

That’s all the permission Joey needs. He sobs more, ripping into one decorative pillow, fluff pouring out next to his face as his body twists up and jerks and comes.

Slade follows soon after. Joey feels his rhythm stutter, then his huge cock twitch powerfully inside his aching body. He feels the hot rush of cum, and it makes him moan, makes him feel like a filthy fucking whore to take it so enthusiastically.

He loves the feeling.

Both of them panting — Joey more than Slade — they slowly come to a stop. Slade’s thumb finds the rim of Joey’s hole, and as he pulls his cock out, he pushes his thumb in, keeping all that cum inside him. Joey shudders.

His mind and body are thrumming with the intensity of the encounter, and he feels boneless, slumped against the arm of the couch. He expects Slade to be gone by the time he turns his head, but… he isn’t.

“C’mere, kid,” Slade mutters, gathering Joey up into his arms.

Joey just blinks as Slade picks him up like he’s a kid again, carrying him through the spacious apartment to the bathroom. He rests his head on Slade’s shoulder as Slade rifles around in his cabinets, humming when he finally finds whatever he’s looking for. Then he sits down on the toilet, Joey on his lap, chest to chest with him.

A second later, Joey hisses as he feels the sting of some sort of lotion on his aching ass. The sound is inaudible, phone still on the living room table. Slade rubs the lotion in with a gentleness Joey didn’t think he was capable of. It still stings like a motherfucker, but that sting soon eases into a gentle burn, and then the sort of soothing cool that he associates with aloe. It feels… nice.

“You’re a mess, Joey,” Slade mutters into his ear, beard tickling the skin there.

Joey shudders. He weakly lifts his hands, shifting in Slade’s grip. Slade holds him by the lower back as he leans back, signing with shaky fingers.

“Could say the same about you,” he signs, “Daddy.”

Slade just scoffs and moves his hands down to continue rubbing that soothing lotion into Joey’s ass, whatever it is. Wonders if it’s even something he already had in his cabinet, or if Slade thought this far ahead and snuck it in there while he was still sleeping. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised.

They sit in silence for another few minutes, then Slade wraps his arms around Joey’s thighs and hauls him back up. Joey clings to him, breath finally evened out after panting for so long.

Slade brings him to his bedroom, lays him down gingerly, the way he used to when Joey was sick as a child. Then he tugs his sweat-covered boxers off the rest of the way and tosses them into the hamper, wandering off to find a new pair in Joey’s sock drawer.

He snaps his fingers so Slade will look at him, then signs “Not there,” but Slade just ignores him and opens the drawer. Picks up a rather large dildo and raises an eyebrow. Again, Joey goes scarlet, flopping back down into the pillows. He hears Slade chuckle and slide the drawer closed, and a second later, he returns with—

The “Are you nasty?” briefs.

Joey just sighs and lets Slade wipe him down with a few tissues before dressing him. It feels… nice, having his father’s attention like this. He has to wonder if Slade is always this gentle after sex, if the reason why their mother and so many other women stuck around is because of this side of him, so rarely seen. There’s certainly something about him when he acts this way, something so different than the normal disdain or scorn or apathy that he usually exudes.

Joey likes it. He smiles up at Slade.

“Come here?” he signs.

He expects this to be it, for Slade to turn tail and run now. But he doesn’t. He pulls his shirt over his head — and fuck, that muscular body with that thick white hair drives him wild — and climbs into bed next to Joey. Surprised, Joey doesn’t do anything, but Slade’s arm wraps around his shoulders and encourages him to lay his head on his chest.

Joey does. He lays a hand on Slade’s chest, and realizes that he’s stopped shaking. His veins still thrum with the intensity of what they’ve done, and his mind spins with the implications of it, but he feels almost calm. At peace with it. It helps that Slade turns to nuzzle his hair, and he thinks — he can’t confirm it, but he _thinks_ — he feels the press of Slade’s lips into the top of his head.

“You’re a mess, kid,” Slade mumbles into his hair.

“Whose fault is that?” Joey signs with a smile.

“Brat.” Slade gently slaps his ass, just enough to make the cheek jiggle, not enough to really hurt.

Grinning, Joey’s hands move, spelling out, “But you love it.”

Slade hums and pulls him closer, resting his chin on Joey’s head.

He thinks that’s about as close to a yes as he’ll get. But that’s just fine by him.

**Author's Note:**

> find me [here](https://linktr.ee/herecomesnaya)


End file.
